It’s like speed dating to music.
You begin with exercises as a group, then they split you, women facing men, and you learn your steps. It’s very efficient. Twenty (men) quickly become ten (under 40), then five (under 30), then two (vaguely hot).
‘Hi, I’m [insert my name].’
‘Hi, I’m Nick.’
We take up hold.
‘Oops sorry, my bad! Wrong leg!’
‘Don’t worry!’ I say. ‘It’s bound to happen when there’s a choice!’
We laugh, and introduce ourselves.
‘That was fun, thanks!’ I say, when the track comes to an end.
He rejoins his girlfriend.
Milonga and I take up hold. Dancing with Milonga feels… sophisticated, grown-up, empowering. Once upon a time, the sight of him turned me into a nervous wreck. Now, here we are, dancing together. The physical chemistry simmers pleasantly, and his hand occasionally drifts to the small of my back. But that’s the way of the dance.
This week: Argentine tango classes.